


Say Something

by melissmallfic



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5.10, Alternate Ending, Episode Related, M/M, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5014267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissmallfic/pseuds/melissmallfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I need the shit-talking, bitch-slapping piece of South Side trash I fell for. Where is he?”</p>
<p>He couldn’t stop those words from playing in his head. They made him quiet.</p>
<p>Alternate ending of 5.10, post-dugout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_rat_wins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rat_wins/gifts).



_“I need the shit-talking, bitch-slapping piece of South Side trash I fell for. Where is he?”_

After they fucked in the dugout, Ian and Mickey lingered there for a little while. It was cold, but with their jackets over them and their clothes back on, there was enough body heat between the two of them to keep it from being uncomfortable.

They didn’t say much. Mickey stole a few glances at Ian, who looked content, or at least calm. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. Mickey felt words of concern bubbling up in his throat. He wanted to get Ian home and warm and make sure he was on time with his next dose of medication. But he couldn’t stop those words from playing in his head. They made him quiet.

The walk home was quiet, but a little more playful. Ian kept stumbling, drunk off of just one beer. He’d look over at Mickey and smirk every time he tripped, like he did a trick or something. Mickey rolled his eyes and bumped Ian with his hip, not saying anything, even though he really wanted to grab him, make him walk straight.

The Gallagher house was dark when they go there, except for Debbie’s bedroom light. They slipped in and up to Ian’s old room, Liam already in his crib. Mickey undressed as Ian kissed his brother on the forehead. He slipped out into the hall to take a piss, wash the blood off his face, and brush his teeth.

He considered himself in the mirror as he brushed. His lip was starting to swell where Ian had hit him, busted it a little bit on his teeth. But even more than that, he looked worn out, older than twenty for damn sure. The cigarettes probably didn’t help, but the stress was taking its toll. He remembered seeing a picture of his mom around his age, two kids already. When he first found it he thought she had to be in her thirties at least, but she wasn’t. Just drugged up and tired, half-dead from fear of Terry.

Maybe that was just a Milkovich trait, tie yourself to someone who would make you sick with anxiety, age you, but hold you so tight you just couldn’t let go. Because as exhausted as he was, Mickey couldn’t picture his life without Ian. All roads led to him, anything without him seemed like a dead end or driving straight off a cliff.

Tired of looking at his own face, Mickey turned off the light and went back into Ian’s room. Ian was lying on the bed, feet planted on the floor, eyes closed, and hands clasped over his stomach. He had a weird little smile on his face. Mickey sat next to him and lay back, mimicking his pose, but staying silent.

Ian turned his head toward Mickey and opened his eyes. “Got the spins,” he whispered.

Mickey hummed and nodded. “You’re a cheap fuckin’ date these days, Gallagher.”

“We should do that,” Ian murmured, closing his eyes again, and tilting his head back to the ceiling.

“Do what?” Mickey asked.

“Go on a date. Like, a real date.” He grinned and it was like a Pavlovian response, Mickey grinning, too.

“You wanna do that?”

Ian opened his eyes again, but didn’t face Mickey. “Yeah. We should, right?” He sighed and it turned into a yawn. He brought a hand up to scrub at his face, grimacing when it came away sticky with blood. “Too tired to clean up.”

It was right on the tip of Mickey’s tongue to offer to get a washcloth. Just the idea of it made him happy. He’d bring it in, wet and warm, maybe straddle Ian’s hips, and just gently clean him off. That was what Ian didn’t get, or maybe he just really didn't like it. It made Mickey feel so fucking good to take care of Ian, for once. To treat him well instead of pushing him away, making him feel like shit. But he seemed doomed to make Ian feel like shit, his instincts all wrong.

So he just lay there, biting his cheek to keep from responding. Ian eventually groaned and rolled up on his spine to sit up. He clapped Mickey on the knee and hauled himself off the bed, stumbling for the bathroom. Mickey listened to the water run, the sound of Ian brushing his teeth, humming to himself, still tipsy. 

He came back a few minutes later, stripping off his clothes just inside the door. Mickey sat up on his elbows to watch, biting his lower lip. It amazed him how much they’d both changed in the past year. It wasn’t all good and it wasn’t all bad, but when he thought about them in the beginning, pictured them in his mind, he almost didn’t recognize those two stupid kids.

Ian noticed Mickey watching him and one side of his mouth quirked up, along with one eyebrow. He looked deranged, but Mickey knew he thought he looked sexy. Mickey bit back a laugh and Ian shook his head, stalking over to the bed. He pushed Mickey’s shoulders back, Mickey giving in easily, smiling up at him.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, climbing up over Mickey, his knees bracketing Mickey’s ribs. He rested his hands on either side of Mickey’s head, let his own drop low, but not low enough to kiss.

“You, dork,” Mickey said, bringing his own hands up to grab Ian’s hips. 

Ian hummed, spread his knees out so he could sit on Mickey’s stomach, holding himself up enough so that it wasn’t his full weight. Mickey brought his hands around to slip under Ian’s shirt, slide his fingers up the tight muscles, skim his ribcage. He didn’t know where this was going, if they were just teasing or if this would lead to more sex. He was okay with either, but a little unsettled that he couldn’t tell. Used to be that he could always tell, but that might have been because it was always sex.

Ian lifted one hand and tapped it gently against Mickey’s cheek, a mock slap. Mickey watched Ian’s eyes taking in his face, darting up and down. He wondered what Ian saw, wanted to ask, but was afraid to hear the answer. 

Abruptly, Ian sat back and swung one leg off of Mickey. He started to peel back the covers, Mickey took the hint and stood up, climbing in first to be under the window. Ian settled next to him, sliding one thigh between both of Mickey’s, pressing his hand against Mickey’s lower back to pull him close. Mickey lowered his head, his lips resting at the base of Ian’s throat. Ian squirmed a bit to get comfortable, his hips knocking into Mickey’s, sending a hot little thrill up Mickey’s spine, his cock stirring a bit.

“Mmm, hi,” Ian said quietly, making Mickey laugh. Ian ran his hand up Mickey’s back and let it stop on the back of Mickey’s head, fingers pushing through his hair. 

Mickey thrust his hips against Ian’s half-heartedly, just feeling the need for a little pressure. Ian chuckled a little, Mickey could feel the bass of it in his throat. But he didn’t feel a response from Ian, which put a dampener on his mood. He frowned and Ian must have felt it, because he tugged on Mickey’s hair until his head was bent back where they could look at each other.

“What?” Ian asked, eyes drooping closed. The problem was there was just too much to say and Mickey was smart enough to know it wasn’t a question that wanted an honest answer. Ian didn’t want to hear that Mickey liked to take care of him, or that it stung when he didn’t turn Ian on, even if he knew it was the meds. He definitely didn’t look like he wanted to reassure Mickey that he still wanted him, still wanted to fuck him, even if his dick didn’t. 

Mickey shook his head, closed his eyes so he didn’t have to think about what he must look like right now. Closed his mouth so those three little words he only said on a voicemail wouldn’t come spilling out where they weren’t wanted.

The kiss surprised him. Ian’s lips were chapped, but warm, and gentle. It was just a firm press until Mickey’s mouth fell open a bit, and Ian’s tongue darted inside. It got warmer and wetter, and Mickey felt himself get hard again, smiled when he felt Ian get there, too. But it was also like a sleeping pill hitting, that relief. Feeling Ian want him, the evidence undeniable, was like a warm blanket. 

He pulled back, looked at Ian’s sleepy expression. “You’re tired,” he said, kissing him again, but just quickly.

Ian nodded and snaked his arms around Mickey’s waist, squeezing him tight for a second. “You, too.” Mickey nodded, brought his hand up to Ian’s face. He let his thumb rest against Ian’s lower lip. 

“G’night,” he said quietly. Those three words were caught in his throat, but they didn’t hurt so bad. 

“Night, Mick.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely the_rat_wins. This is not the story I told you I was writing today, nor is it the story I've made you read more than once. But it's something and it's not the most angsty thing I've ever written. :)


End file.
